


y’all got sundaes?

by startofamoment



Category: Brooklyn Nine-Nine (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Soulmates, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-14
Updated: 2020-09-14
Packaged: 2021-03-06 23:15:32
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,290
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26457040
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/startofamoment/pseuds/startofamoment
Summary: They’re always fleeting - obscure glimpses granted by the universe, gentle nudges pushing each person that much closer to their destiny.Howexactly Amy is supposed to work with the transient taste of mozzarella and pepperoni, in America’s pizza capital no less, she has no idea.(Of course, David, with his freakish photographic memory and infuriating luck, only needed the flashing images beneath his eyelids to clue him in. He’d gone and found his soulmate less than an hour after he’d gotten his driver’s license.)AU in which soulmates share one of the five basic senses, and Amy is blessed/cursed with the taste of gummy bears and fruit roll ups every morning.
Relationships: Jake Peralta/Amy Santiago
Comments: 13
Kudos: 207
Collections: Summer 2020 Fic Exchange





	y’all got sundaes?

**Author's Note:**

  * For [EBDaydreamer](https://archiveofourown.org/users/EBDaydreamer/gifts).



> written for [EBDaydreamer](https://archiveofourown.org/users/EBDaydreamer/pseuds/EBDaydreamer) who sent in the prompt “ice cream flavors” for the [@b99fandomevents](https://b99fandomevents.tumblr.com/) summer 2020 fic exchange on tumblr! (this may not be my best work bc life and school have kept me away from fic writing for ages! but i hope you still like it!!)

It starts off with ice cream. 

Or at least that’s what she (and her refined palate, with a whopping five years of food tasting experience) thinks the smooth, creamy sweetness on the tip of her tongue is.

“ _Mommy!_ ” Amy yells, running off to the kitchen. “Can I have more ice cream, please?” 

“What do you mean, sweetheart?” 

“Chocolate ice cream,” she declares, her soft chubby cheeks and adorable round eyes offsetting her matter-of-fact tone. “I tasted some just now, but I want more.” 

Camila immediately glances toward Victor, who’s sitting at the dining table, midway through the day’s crossword puzzle. They share a meaningful look before he clears his throat, pulling out the chair beside him. “Come here, Tiger. Your mom and I have something to tell you about.”

Their explanation is brief, but there’s something about the smile on her father’s face as he recounts the birds singing outside her mother’s window, the church bells that he thought for sure were a sign they were destined to be wed. It all leaves Amy in silent awe and spurs a new excitement in her. Out there, wherever they are, is her _soulmate_.

“Now, do you have any questions, dear?” 

Amy nods vigorously, her initial request unforgotten. “Can I have my ice cream?” 

Victor scoffs while Camila chuckles and shakes her head, returning to the pot simmering on the stove. “Absolutely not. Dessert before dinner? You’ll ruin your appetite.” 

Amy pouts. “But my soulmate was _just_ eating ice cream! No fair.” 

He clicks his tongue. “Maybe your soulmate’s parents don’t care about giving their child a healthy diet.”

“ _Victor,_ ” Camila chides.

“Or they could just be in another time zone,” Amy’s oldest brother supplies, walking in to pour himself a glass of water.

Amy’s head tilts sideways, her brows furrowing together. “What’s a time zone?” 

(The time zone map, it turns out, is a touch more confusing than the soulmate system. At least to a kindergartner.) 

* * *

It ends up being a running theme throughout Amy’s childhood: her soulmate eating and drinking all the things she wishes she could be having. Popcorn. Jelly beans. Toffee. Potato chips. Cake. More ice cream. Cookies. Marshmallows. Donuts. Pizza. Orange soda. 

(Which isn’t to say that she doesn’t enjoy her meals. She _loves_ her mother’s cooking, of course, and is more than happy to help herself to seconds and occasional thirds. But she could stand to have a daily treat or two.) 

There is one day of each year when she decidedly does not envy her soulmate. 

She couldn’t even recognize the flavors the first time. They came and went so quick, but they were still disgusting enough to make her run to the bathroom for a good brushing and rinsing. 

Now that she’s a little older, she’s able to identify the truly peculiar combination, and she knows without a shred of doubt it’s not one she would ever imagine eating voluntarily. _Mayonnaise and peanuts._

It’s weird, and it’s gross, and it’s sad. For whatever reason, it’s something her soulmate has every single time this holiday rolls around, and it always leaves her at least a little conflicted about partaking in the scrumptious feast her family always has.

Amy wonders again, as she brings a forkful of perfectly-roasted turkey to her mouth, whether her soulmate resents her. 

* * *

Tony catches it before she does. He snickers and gives her a playful shove, tearing her focus away from the textbook she’d been reading.

“Stop chewing on your pen, Amy. That’s disgusting.”

“ _Wha_ –” 

“Plus your soulmate has to taste that, _ick_. How long have you been doing that?”

The pen in question clatters on the table as her mouth gapes open, her cheeks starting to color. “Wait, th- that’s not how it works!” she sputters out. 

Her brother looks at her with a raised eyebrow and a sly grin. “Mhm, you and I both know that you were _just_ complaining about your soulmate getting shampoo in their mouth last weekend. And remember that one time you think they bit into an actual penny. And how about that other time–” 

“Alright, _enough,_ ” she groans. It’s true – the taste-sharing seems to apply to non-food items as well. 

She shouldn’t care much because, really, by comparison, hard plastic isn’t nearly as bad as soap or copper. But she’s ashamed and sorry nonetheless. If anything, she’s disappointed in herself for picking up a bad habit her dentist definitely wouldn’t approve of. She’s just been so much more stressed lately since moving up to the advanced math class, and so, _yes_ , she’s maybe started nervously biting her writing materials, oops. 

She sighs and gets up to go shove copious amounts of candy in her mouth.

* * *

Every now and then, Amy’s overcome with a taste she can’t quite name. It comes and goes within seconds (like it always does), so she can never quite figure it out. Something slightly sweet, but not sugary. Actually it’s almost tasteless? But sometimes it’s a little bit salty, although maybe that’s something entirely different altogether.

When Jeremy from the Debate Club kisses her after their junior prom, she finally gets it. 

His lips don’t taste exactly the same, but it’s close enough that it just clicks in her head.

She must look taken aback, because Jeremy pulls away slightly. “You okay?” he asks, voice gentle and concerned.

Amy nods slowly, taking just a moment to check in with herself. She’s pretty sure that this boy isn’t her soulmate. (He’d opted for the raspberry cheesecake for dessert earlier, and Amy definitely didn’t taste the same delicious tartness he was raving about.) Still, he’s smart and he’s cute and he _likes_ her. Plus her actual soulmate is apparently going around locking lips with other people as well, _so–_

She gives Jeremy a smile and leans in. 

* * *

She wouldn’t say she’s ever had a strong inclination to go searching for her soulmate. _In theory_ , she would like to meet them, yes. Who wouldn’t want to meet the supposed love of their life? 

It’s just that she wouldn’t really know where to start. The thing about the shared senses is that they’re always fleeting – obscure glimpses granted by the universe, gentle nudges pushing each person that much closer to their destiny. _How_ exactly Amy is supposed to work with the transient taste of mozzarella and pepperoni, in America’s pizza capital no less, she has no idea.

(Of course, David, with his freakish photographic memory and infuriating luck, only needed the flashing images beneath his eyelids to clue him in. He’d gone and found his soulmate less than an hour after he’d gotten his driver’s license.) 

She does think about her soulmate, though. A lot. Some days more than others.

Especially recently, with the taste of cheap beer, vodka, gin, and a slew of other alcoholic beverages burning the back of her throat every night. Initially she’d thought that maybe they were on spring break like she is or on some other week-long vacation and were just living their life. But the drinking’s continued since then, and she just knows that they aren’t out there celebrating anything. 

Amy sighs, taking a sip of tea to help wash away the taste of whiskey. She hopes they’re at least remembering to stay hydrated. 

She hopes they’re going to be okay.

Three nights later, she considers checking every bar in the tri-state area to find them. Except, really, that would be crazy. Because what exactly would she do, then? Question each drunk patron on what they had for breakfast that morning?

She doesn’t know what inspires her to do this, or what she even thinks it’s going to achieve. It’s a desperate attempt at - _she’s not even sure what -_ comfort, perhaps, letting her soulmate know that she’s here and feels their pain. For the very first time in her life (and hopefully never again), she reaches for a teaspoon of mayonnaise and a small handful of peanuts.

And then the drinking stops. 

* * *

Her soulmate likes sweets. Like, _really_ likes sweets.

It was a fact established early on but lately has been impossible to ignore. Nearly every day recently, right around when Amy’s about to finish her second cup of coffee for the morning, her mouth is flooded with the taste of what she can only assume is gummy bears and fruit roll ups.

She groans and takes another swig of her coffee, waiting until the sickly sweetness dissipates.

Later, she finds herself in what’s becoming an increasingly familiar battle of _Who Gets The Last Word?_ (or Taste, really).

She has her usual balanced meal for lunch – today it’s a green goddess cobb salad that she picked up on her way back to the Six-Four after checking out a crime scene. 

Without fail, just a few minutes after she finishes, she’s hit with some variation of a four year old’s dream meal. Right now she’s getting an overwhelming mix of chocolate sauce, caramel, maple syrup, butter, whipped cream, sprinkles… and maybe sour patch kids?

She makes a mental note (as she’s been doing daily) to snack on something healthy, like an apple or some yogurt. Anything to remind her soulmate they have to be taking care of their health and not having sugar-based everything.

But, as always, the bunch of carrot sticks she has is only followed by the taste of orange soda. 

* * *

There’s that metallic tang of blood again. It hasn’t come up very often, but it has happened enough that Amy wonders what exactly her soulmate’s been up to.

Are they a police officer, working a dangerous job like she is? A firefighter? Oh, god forbid he be a member of the mafia or a shady perp she’ll one day arrest. Perhaps he’s just at the dentist getting yet another procedure done. (It would track, given all the candy.)

She pops a piece of gum in her mouth and starts to chew, hoping that minty sweetness helps get her soulmate’s mind off the pain, praying they’ll get through whatever this is.

* * *

“Hey– Santiago, right?”

Amy looks up and locks eyes with one of the detectives she’d met earlier. His smile is kind, and it makes her feel considerably less nervous about her first day at this precinct. 

“Looks like one of the uniforms treated his buddies to sandwiches for his birthday, and there are some leftovers in the break room. I was thinking of snagging one or two before Scully and Hitchcock get to them. Wanna join?”

“Sure!” she says, putting her case file away for now and following him over to the half-filled tray of subs. 

The taste of salami and provolone hits her tongue half a second before she takes a bite out of her sandwich, but she doesn’t notice.

* * *

In hindsight, there were blatant clues all along. (The coffee with five sugar packets, for one.)

It finally happens when Charles drags them to a newly-opened fusion ice cream parlor – his culinary obsession of the week and apparently, believably, the only place in New York state to serve kimchi sundaes.

Jake gives out a drawn out hum, looking through the extensive menu before finally stepping to the counter. “Hi, yeah, can I get a scoop of the wasabi?”

Amy looks at him incredulously, still unsure which (if any) of the varyingly wild flavors she should try for herself. “Wasabi ice cream? Seriously?”

He shrugs. “When in Rome, right?” 

She supposes he’s right, and having just transferred to the Nine-Nine a few months ago, she doesn’t want to offend Charles by not ordering anything. She reads over the options again and settles on the roasted green tea because that sounds like the least bizarre.

A moment later, Jake’s taking his first heaping spoonful of ice cream when–

“Oh my _god,_ that is so _–_ ”

“Spicy! What is so spicy?!”

“How is this both spicy and sweet at the same time?”

“ _Wait–_ ” 

Charles runs to them, his sesame-scallion waffle bowl overturned and abandoned on the counter, and claps his hands on their backs. (The gesture both gets them to look at each other and helps them through their simultaneous coughing fits.) “I’m hearing wedding bells!”

Amy finds, once they’ve both recovered, that Jake is just as surprised and pleasantly awed as she feels. 

* * *

It’s interesting because, on one hand, she thinks she and Jake still have a lot to learn about each other before they can ever consider marriage; on the other hand, here is her soulmate, right at her doorstep, a hefty paper bag in hand. They hadn’t even arranged their first official date yet, just decided that maybe he should come over after work so they could talk without anyone’s (Charles’) prying ears. 

“Hey,” Jake grins shyly, lifting up the bag of goodies. “I got pierogies, potato pancakes, and hot chocolate for us to share. I know it’s your favorite– or, well, at least I assume it’s your favorite since you have it so often. I’m not entirely sure they’re from the right Polish place, though. I tried going to different places when I realized you like them so much– y’know, cause maybe I’d finally run into you there or something– but I don’t think I’ve found quite the exact match in flavor and–”

Amy cuts off his rambling by pressing her lips to his.

He lets out a surprised huff and almost drops all the food as he stumbles back a half step. He quickly rights himself and practically melts into the kiss, his free hand sliding behind her to pull her closer.

They pull away a long moment later, matching smiles on their faces. 

“Would you like to come in?” Amy asks, already pushing her door open. 

Jake nods then leans in to give her another peck on the lips. “I’d love to.”


End file.
